


Bad Ideas

by Hexes



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Bad Ideas, Blasphemy, Drabble, Emotionally constipated characters, Fighting, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Unresolved Emotional Tension, barely resolved sexual tension, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 06:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexes/pseuds/Hexes
Summary: A fight in an alley way turns into a tryst. Neither have the presence of mind to stop it, nor know how to address it in the end.Un-beta'd





	Bad Ideas

    Too tense, too bright, too much. They had been fighting. Locked in combat for easily fifteen minutes. Punch, block, pivot, deflect. The smell of sweat and frustration like a drug, like alcohol, making them both stupid. Something had torn. Something else slipped. A dodge ended badly and an attack resulted in a compromising position.

    And now... Christ on a crutch, the scent of his skin was like a flashbang going off in his nose. He sunk his mouth down the curved head, slowly pushing the foreskin back, along the thick, ruddy shaft, the salty tang of musk, adrenaline, and arousal blooming on his tongue. God. Damn. Who knew that Nirvana was best found on your knees?

    He snuck his hand into his own pants, the tight red leather a prison. He moaned around his mouthful, wrapping his hand around his needy erection. Licked away a dribble of pre-come, sank his mouth back down the length of his shaft, nosing lovingly at the shock of curls at the base.

    He pulled desperately, thighs quivering, mind burning, throat working urgently, frantic for the taste of his orgasm washing through his mouth, over his tongue to sit warm and hard fought in his stomach. His own spend would be wasted on his boots, glistening like little pearls over the black leather, staining them. Salt stains, he'd heard, were particularly difficult to get out of leather.

    The thought alone ripped his orgasm out of him like a tornado destroying a town, and he shoved himself forward, taking his hardness as deep into his throat as he could, gagging himself against the needy whine that threatened to reveal him to his partner. He felt his partner's hips lock, muscles straining against self-control and common decency. A growl exploded across his senses like a MOAB, rendering him insensate - they shouldn't address this. They shouldn't have done this. But the salt and chlorine flavour of his spend, bitter with cheap coffee and cheaper cigarettes made him reckless. He swallowed greedily.

    "Christ on a heist," he breathed, as his systems booted back up after his orgasm. He knew he shouldn't. He oughtn't respond. It would be too easy to deduce who he was, what he had just done. What _they_ had just done.

    "It's a sin to take the Lord's name in vain," Matt said anyway, still gasping for breath. Black boots shifted as shock travelled along Frank's body.

    "Fuck," was all he said.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to keep the whole exchange confused and kind of dreamlike, so I decided to avoid names for most of the work. Lemme know if it's too much of a hassle to read.  
> Comments help my raspberry bushes produce <3


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